Back in the autumn, I took a group from church to see Sister Act, after I discovered that I knew a lady who was a member of the local society who were putting on the show. Unsurprisingly, the production proved to be very popular and by the time I put our booking in there were insufficient seats left downstairs. Our problems began when I discovered that my group were not very familiar with the layout of the theatre. They headed off for the lifts, 15 minutes later I was still rounding them up from all corners of the theatre. Unfortunately, our seats were the wrong end of a long run of seats. Fortunately, they all made it to their alloted places before the lights dimmed and the curtain rose, having inched their way along the row, dodgy knees, walking sticks and all.
As the story unfolded I discovered that Sister Act is the tale of a lady of ill repute, who ends up in a convent. Having only seen Sister Act 2, I hadn't realised why Whoopi Goldberg was in the convent in the first place. I just assumed she was just a nun with a great voice. Once I grasped the finer detail of the storyline, I kept taking sneaky peaks along the row, keeping a sharp eye peeled for any early indications of moral outrage, but they were all having a whale of a time.
As the previous trip went so well I decided to make a similar booking, as another local operatic society was putting on a Carousel, a story I wasn't familiar with, but it is a musical. What can possibly go wrong? This time I was determined to avoid the circle access debacle, and book early, ensuring we were seated in the stalls, where the access is far simpler. I made an announcement in church, and checked who wanted to come who had joined us on the previous visit. Fifteen people signed up. I was about to make an online booking when it was suggested that we booked through a member of the society who a couple of the congregation knew. This meant that each ticket was cheaper than the list price, plus we did not have to pay the booking fee to the Box Office. The Operatic Society get more income as they do not have to pay the theatre for selling the tickets on their behalf. Result!A week or so after I placed the order, at the point when the cheque had been handed over and the tickets were moving from person to person along an invisible chain, one of the ladies asked if it was possible to get an additional ticket.
"No problem," said I, knowing that we had a block of tickets on one side of the auditorium.
"It should be easy-peasy to get an extra ticket next to one of the seats. Leave it with me..."
I went online and noticed that there only pairs of seats between our booking and the next. The software would not allow me to select a seat from any of these pairs, as it would leave a single seat they would be unlikely to sell. I could see the sense in this, but thought there must be a way that I can book an adjacent seat. I decided to go directly to the booking office. The lady was sympathetic,but were also unable to process the request for just one seat the same reason. The receptionist advised me to book directly with the operatic society. Then I had a brainwave.
"Let's take G1 (aged 10)"
I sent her mother a message, and ascertained that she had nothing lined up for that evening.
"Book the date, I have something planned for her..." I advised her mother mysteriously
"Oh great, she will love that!"
I was all set to book two seats direct with the theatre, expecting to pay full price, when I noticed that children's tickets were half price. A mutual friend advised me that it would still be beneficial to book to the Operatic Society if I was to book through them. A few emails and phone calls later and I am assured that the tickets will stll be £14 each. An envelope was passed over to the society, with a scribbled note that one ticket is for a child.. A week or so later, two tickets arrive. The envelope is marked 2 x £15. I am bemused, stick them to one side and forget about it. A few days later I get a phone call.
"Can you send back the tickets. The theatre got it wrong. You should still have got the party rate, £14, and one of the tickets should have been half price. Send them back, and I will get them reprinted and send you the balance."
Well, I couldn't complain about that...
Meanwhile one of the original fifteen realised they were double-booked. Then one was poorly. I thought things were going too well...
Finally, the evening came. Lifts had been sorted. Spare seats filled. We had the right number of people for the seats and the right number of tickets for those who came. People were meeting people that they had no idea were connected in any way. It was all very jolly. We settled down, the lights were dimmed and the curtain lifted to reveal a carousel. As the story unfolded I realised that the story was a tale of domestic violence, and the importance of staying with your man and forgiving him, even though he hurts you. Great!
Theatres increasingly rely on volunteers to function. In the past ice cream has been available from the kiosk in the foyer, but that had the shutters down and no-one was home. People were roaming around, the stairways muttering
"Where is the ice cream?"
We went upstairs and purchased ours from the bar. Big Daughter also purchased some stange bright blue pop. Despite its disconcerting brightness, she seemed to think highly of it, as she said it was wicked, or something similar... I hope she drank it quickly, to prevent it from disturbing other theatregoers by glowing in the dark...There was just time to take a quick photo of the family taking this high brow entertainment very seriously before the lights dimmed. I nearly dropped my ice cream in the process, much to big daughters amusement. I intended to share out the Malteasers (also purchased from the bar) but just extracting the packet from my bag made so much noise that I was deterred from even attempting to open the pack. Light as they are they were not going to float out of the pack without assistance!
The next planned visit is to see White Christmas. What horrors could that seasonal sentimental story possibly reveal?
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